His Morning After
by cdawn1022
Summary: Companion piece to my oneshot, My Morning After. Perry POV this time around. The morning after Perry's divorce party, as referenced in Chapter 4 of my story, My Coma.


I really have no excuse for not updating in so long! I'm working on more for the main story, I promise.

* * *

I was pleasantly surprised to find my head wasn't spinning wildly when I started to wake up. The room was annoyingly bright, even through my eyelids, but at least the only noise in the room was breathing. It took me a solid minute to realize that my breaths weren't the only ones there. That almost-snore brought me up to speed easily, and I didn't even have to open my eyes. I'd never paid much attention to it before, but I had a feeling I'd know that breathing anywhere.

 _There's the head spinning I missed so much,_ I thought.

Was it a good or bad thing that I could remember every excruciating detail from the night before? Health-wise, probably good. But having that perfect recall was going to be a bitch moving forward. I contemplated the prospect of just going back to normal as if he'd never begged me to fuck him harder. Damn near impossible, especially with the one memory I'd absolutely have to lock away - those _eyes_ , looking up at me all big and blue like I was a god or some kind of movie star.

" _Come on, kid, don't look at me like that."_

" _Like what?" he whispered._

" _Like I saved your life or something. Just go to sleep."_

He'd obeyed without a fight. I almost wished I'd called him a cab to save him from the embarrassment of waking up here.

I spent a few more minutes trying to figure out how the hell to handle this, to no avail, before he started to stir. I hoped he'd just get the hell out, and I was sure I was right when I heard the frantic rustling of clothes. Until I heard cupboards closing instead of the front door.

I managed to hold back a groan as I sat up. I pulled on some sweats and a Red Wings jersey, rolling my eyes when I heard some pans clanging. This kid must have some kind of death wish. Of course, _I_ didn't mind one bit, but I knew how he saw me. He probably thought I was already planning his murder in my sleep.

I stopped short in the doorway when I saw him. I'd planned on marching up to him and demanding he either get out or back in bed, but I couldn't seem to do a damn thing. He looked like he belonged there, holding a spatula I'd forgotten I owned. He hummed some nonsensical tune to himself, like it was any other morning, and this was totally normal. I could see the stupidly sweet Disney ending right there in front of me and I was struck with an unfamiliar feeling - hesitation.

He solved that for me when he finally noticed me standing at the end of the room. He stared back at me, just as frozen as I was. The wall clock was uncomfortably loud, ticking away the seconds of silence. I managed to work up the courage to clear my throat, though I berated myself for being nervous in the first place.

"Say, Newbie, I think you're burning there," I told him. It sounded less flat in my head.

He kept looking at me as he put the pancake on the plate next to the stove. It killed me to see the fear in his eyes, so different from how he looked last night. He pushed the plate in my direction slowly, cautiously. I tore my eyes away from him to look down at it, and abruptly resolved to make sure he'd never be afraid of me again.

"Right then. Did you grab the paper?" I asked. If he was gonna act like everything was normal, so was I.

"N-no, I - I was hungry," he managed.

I silently made my way to the front door and grabbed the paper from the mat. I went straight to section D, the sports page, knowing he wouldn't be the least bit interested. I read the same sentence about ten times as I tried to ignore how his gaze was burning a hole through the editorials. Finally, I slowly looked up at him.

"I'm not going to kill you or anything. Scout's honor," I told him, hoping to alleviate his fear.

"I, uh. I should go," he responded, obviously skeptical.

I stared hard at the article in front of me, but I didn't even know what teams had played. I tried to convince myself that it would be best to let him leave and get on with his life, but when his footsteps got too far away, I couldn't do it.

"Wait," I called. It sounded a little desperate, but I couldn't be bothered to care. I didn't turn to look at him, absolutely positive that he'd see something on my face that I'd have preferred he didn't.

"What?" he asked, surprised.

I tried to take a deep breath without making it obvious. "You… were making me breakfast," I said as smoothly as I could. "Normally I'd prefer you cooking me dinner, but I guess a meal after the fact counts.

He was silent for a long moment. "You want me to stay," he finally said slowly.

I turned towards him, hoping my face was under control. "Do I really have to go through this? Just get back here and finish the damn pancakes," I insisted.

He did as I asked, and each new pancake he made was a perfect golden brown. I didn't comment on his sudden lack of appetite; he must've been starving to risk making food here, but he didn't take a single bite. He looked more and more like he was about to explode with each passing minute. Finally, I slammed my fork on the counter.

"For God's sake, I know you want to say something," I told him exasperatedly. "Just say it."

"Dr. Cox-"

"I think we're a little past 'Dr. Cox,' don't you agree?" I interrupted. Not that I minded much when he was calling me that in bed.

"Perry," he said slowly after a moment. I nodded my approval. "I won't tell. I promise. We can just forget all about it."

Now this was what I expected - or was it? Was there a part of me that really thought he'd be happy? Ecstatic, even?

"That's what you want?" I asked, keeping my voice even and my eyes down.

"That's what _you_ want."

I sighed. "Be honest with me. Now," I said firmly.

"I mean, it's not like this could ever _be_ something," he insisted.

The frustration of being so close, only for him to say no, pushed me over the edge. "It already _is_ something, dammit!" I shot back, not caring how desperate I sounded.

"Right. But we can just erase it," JD said a little more quietly. Deescalation. Lovely.

I walked around the counter, determined to get the truth out of him. I grabbed both his shoulders, forcing him to stay put.

"Tell me - tell me right now that you're just going to forget this whole thing," I demanded. "Look me in the eyes and promise me that you _want_ to."

"I… I," he stammered, trailing off when his eyes met mine.

I may have been a little obtuse, even insensitive, but never stupid. I watched JD's face change as he stared up at me. Never stupid - I could tell when someone was in love with me, especially when they were just realizing it in my kitchen.

Before I knew it, he was wrapping himself around me, kissing me even more intensely than before. I responded gladly, wishing I could somehow pull him even closer. A few long, _long_ moments later, he pulled away just about as quickly as is humanly possible. The shock on his face was almost funny.

"You - you were kissing me," he said, breathless, almost accusatory.

"Yes," I answered, trying to hide how amused I was at his response.

JD stared blankly as he processed the information. "You _slept_ with me. And - and you wanted me to stay."

"Uh-huh."

"Not possible," he whispered.

I rolled my eyes. "I was hoping you'd never figure it out, really, but our little drunken escapade made me think that I might actually have a chance."

"You love me back," JD said slowly. "And taking that into account, this is obviously a dream, so it won't do any damage if we have sex again, right?"

I pinched him. He made a high-pitched noise.

"Okay. Not a dream. That wasn't necessary," he complained.

"Seemed like it," I teased, still trying to lighten the mood. It bothered me that I'd clearly been such a jackass that he barely believed me. He still looked nervous.

"So what do we do now?"

I watched his face, though he was looking at the floor. "Well, I'm guessing you'd like to be _boyfriends_ with flowers and cuddles and all that cutesy stuff, am I right?"

"And you want arguments and name-calling?" he mumbled.

"Newbie," I said gently, "That's a real specific kind of relationship there. I know you, and that is most definitely not your style." He looked back up at me, still hesitant. "So this is me telling you now, this one time, that I'd be okay going a bit more… teddy bear." Never mind that I'd had dreams about him that involved _scented candles_.

We only left the bed a few more times that day. Both of us were pretty worn out by the time he decided to go home, for Carla and Gandhi's sake.

"So, are we doing the thing where we don't tell people?" he called from the door as I threw some clothes on in the bedroom.

Of course he'd be nervous, with the rumor mill in that hospital. "I re-heally don't think it would be a great idea," I said as I walked to his side. "Do you?"

"God, no," he giggled.

I kissed him and told him I'd see him tomorrow. I leaned against the door when he was gone, already planning a shopping trip for more pancake mix.


End file.
